


Head Canon

by Gallavich_Kismet



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 11:31:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12480596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gallavich_Kismet/pseuds/Gallavich_Kismet
Summary: See title.This is what I think we will see during the end credits of the final episode of Season Eight, bringing Mickey back full force in Season Nine.I live in my own delusions. You are welcome to join me.#mickeywillbeback





	Head Canon

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed.  
> All mistakes are my own.

 

Ian sat in the interrogation room, shaking his leg nervously and tapping his fingers on the table. His eyes kept moving from his fingers, to what he assumed was a two-sided mirror, to the camera mounted in the corner of the room, where wall meets ceiling. It was pointed directly on him. Red light blinking. Red. Red. Red. Red. His heart was beating along with the blink. He looked back down at his fingers. Tapping. Felt his leg. Bouncing.

The door behind him opened with a click and a whoosh, and in came Detective David, an African American woman, fit, smartly dressed, shirt unbuttoned at the top to show how laid back she was but still obviously all business. She was flipping through a manila file as she entered, with a furrowed brow and purposeful look, and announced herself clearly with a distinct “Hello Ian”, but what was that slight softness in the tone? Did she mean for that to be there? Ian, watched as she made her way around and sat in the chair across from him, still flipping through the folder but then closing it with a finality and putting it off to the side. She leaned back in her chair and folded her hands in front of her on the table and looked at Ian expectantly.

Ian sat up straighter in his chair and leaned back, mirroring Detective David’s position and continued to bounce his leg.

“Hello.”

Ian said it with a slight hint of nervousness, but it was the type of nervousness anyone would have, sitting in an interrogation room. Under surveillance. His eyes darted back to the blinking light for a brief moment. Red. Red. Red. Red. His heart still beating along with the blink. He moved his eyes back to Detective David. Waiting.

“Ian. You know why you are here?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you saw me on the bank surveillance with Mickey.”

“That’s right, Ian. And do you know what that means?”

“Yeah. That I am implicated in aiding and abetting. That I’m going to serve time.”

“That’s right. You know that that doesn’t have to be the case though right? You know if you help us, we can avoid that.”

Ian looked down at the table and started tapping his fingers again. His eyes darted up to the blinking red light and back down to his fingers again. He breathed in slowly. Huffing out the breath, the nervousness, the agitation that was starting to fester in his body, he replied briskly. “I’m not a snitch.” He sat back in the chair, crossed his arms and looked directly into Detective David’s brown doe eyes. He saw a softness there. An understanding.  “I’m not fucking snitching.”

Detective David sighed and pulled the manila folder back in front of her and opened it. In it were pictures of Ian and Mickey at the bank when they were making their way to Mexico. Mickey pulling his stupid ski mask on. Ian pulling the mask off. Playing off like he was really robbing the bank. Ian and Mickey standing at the bank teller station. A picture of the note that said “Withdraw full balance and close account” in Ian’s boyish chicken scratch. A picture of Mickey looking at Ian at the realization that he was emptying his bank account, that Ian even HAD a bank account. Each picture Detective David placed in front of him, made the memory brighter and clearer. Made the feeling in Ian’s gut of regret deepen. He should have gone with him. Not a day has gone by where he hasn’t thought that. Not a day has gone by where he hasn’t felt the regret boiling in the pit of his stomach.

Detective David emptied the folder and leaned back in her chair and looked at Ian’s eyes downcast on the pictures, looking at each one. She could see the regret on his face. She could see the love and the sadness. She hated cases like this. She could turn off and on her empathy and when she was dealing with dirtbags and lowlifes it made it easy, but cases like this made it difficult. She did not like that she had to use this kid’s love and emotion as a weakness. She didn’t like using anyone’s love and emotion as a weakness. It felt cheap and wrong. But it’s what she had to do. It was her job.

“Ian. We can try to fix this. We can get him back, maybe lessen his sentence with cooperation. Don’t you want to know he is ok? With the additional information we found on your sister Sammi Slott—”

“Fucking half-sister. Actually fuck that. She’s not my sister at all—”

Detective David cleared her throat. “With the additional criminalizing information we found out on Miss Sammi Slott, in order to strike any sort of deal, she has increased her allegations, claiming that your sister Debbie was also involved in her attempted murder—”

“What the fuck?!” Ian leaned forward, ceasing his finger tapping and splaying his hands on the table, leaving them there, as if trying to ground himself. His leg stopped bouncing. His heart felt like it stopped beating and had dropped into the pit of his stomach to float and bob around in the boiling pool of regret that had been cooking all this time.

“Now Ian. You wouldn’t really want us to entertain this allegation right? Your sister has her baby, just starting to get on her feet. We can avoid all of this. But we need your help.”

Ian was still sitting forward. His hands still flat on the table, as if he was afraid to move. He was looking at Detective David with a look of pure sadness and resignation. His eyes were brimmed with tears.

“What do I need to do?”

Detective David turned her face towards the two way mirror and nodded slightly. After a brief silent pause, someone knocked lightly and briskly walked in, handed an iPhone to the detective and then briskly walked back out, closing the door behind them. Ian looked at the phone. It was his phone.

The detective placed it in front of Ian’s hand still flat on the table. She looked in Ian’s devastated eyes.

“I want you to try and call him. I want you to tell him you want to see him. And we will go from there.”

Ian scoffed, laughing without any trace of happiness and looked off to the side. “How the hell am I supposed to call him? Even if he still had the same number, why the fuck would he answer?  I left him. He’s gone. This is fucking stupid.”

Detective David reached out her hand and placed it gingerly on one of Ian’s. She looked into his eyes and mustered up a feeling of genuine sympathy and understanding.

“Ian. Please. We can try to fix all of this. We really need you to do this though. We need you to do it for Debbie. We need you to do it for Mickey. We need you to do it for yourself.”

Ian hitched his breath, trying to hold back the sob that was trying to break free.  He sat there. Looking down at the phone. Trying to regulate his breathing. Detective David at this point had removed her hand and sat back again with her hands folded in front of her on the table, waiting patiently.

Ian without looking up from the phone, sighed with finality and responded, defeated.

“If I am going to do this, I want privacy. No cameras. Not in this room. Not with you sitting here. Not with anyone sitting with me. I want fucking privacy. And I don’t want you people tracing anything. Not yet. I want this moment. I want to make this call but I’m only making it on my terms.”

Detective David nodded. “Ok Ian. Ok. I think we can do that. Come follow me.”

**********

His phone started ringing. It was on the banister next to a pack of smokes and his lighter. His hand was resting next to these items, a cigarette between his fingers, smoke spiraling up and away from the lit end. Mickey looked down at the phone and brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply and using his newly free hand to pick up the phone. He was leaning against the banister, smoking, sun setting behind him. A beach and the ocean rolling behind his head. Anyone looking at Mickey standing in front of this backdrop would think he was green-screened in. It almost looked fake.  He looked at the number. He slightly started to smirk and answered. “Miss me?”

**_Hey Mick. How are you?_ **

Ian sounded so far away. Which is true. He was far away. So far away.

“I’m good man.” Mickey took another long drag from the cigarette. Holding it in, slowly breathing it out. Closing his eyes. Smirk still on his face. He was shirtless. His body toned, more so then it had been in the past. His hair cut shorter than usual, messily tousled, reminiscent of how he messily wore it in his early days of robbing the Kash & Grab, but more styled, shorter. Cleaner. He flicked the cigarette off the balcony and brought his hand up to comb his fingers through his hair, brushing it back, tugging on it lightly as he brought his hand back forward. Eyes still closed. His chest was more defined. The left side covered with a large tattoo. _Ian Galager_ no longer visible, an image of what a bullseye through a sniper scope would look like with bullet wounds scattered around, as if Mickey was someone’s personal target practice.

**_Mick. I want to see you. Can I see you? I never should have left you…_ **

The line was staticky. Ian sounded so far away. But he sounded urgent. He sounded sure.

Mickey opened his eyes. Still smirking, he breathed deeply. “Yeah man. Let me set something up.  Delete this number. I’ll call you. Ok?”

There was a brief silence. Mickey brought his hand down from tugging his hair and put it on the red head of the twink currently sucking him off. His head fell back, eyes still closed. Mickey stood, naked.  Sun setting behind him over a picturesque ocean scene. Holding the phone to his ear with one hand and pushing the red head towards his thrusts with the other.  Mickey lifted his own head back up. Opened his eyes. Bit his bottom lip, bringing it in his mouth and releasing just as quickly. He breathed out _“Ian.”_

_**Yeah Mick. I’ll wait.** _

Mickey flipped the phone shut and briskly put it back on the banister next to the smokes and grabbed the guy’s head with both hands, giving a final thrust as he came, releasing every held hope he’s had since he crossed the border.

 


End file.
